


sweet in the night

by dhabitude



Series: village people party [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, POV Outsider, Werewolf, i have become emotionally attached to bert and yvonne, i imagine this is set in blackbough but if blackbough was over, keira metz is the witch bert grumbles about quite a bit, near the war camp, there is one line(1) where i insinuate that bert thinks geralt is hot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:35:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26313529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dhabitude/pseuds/dhabitude
Summary: There's a witcher and a bard staying in the inn, but all Bert cares about is his wife.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: village people party [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1917343
Comments: 6
Kudos: 100





	sweet in the night

**Author's Note:**

> the spacing is really weird on this and it all looks really scrunched up I'm so sorry!

The bard was loud, much like all bards were, and annoying, much like all bards were. Yvonne seemed happy enough with him though, and so Bert welcomed the bard in and gave him water and let him play.   
Most of the village came, which was nice. Good to have money in these times, what with the war peeking just over the hills, so close you could hear the gallop of soldiers' late in the night. People seemed more scared of them than the werewolf in the woods, although it was still at the front of everyone's minds. The kiddies weren't to go near the fence surrounding the village, and were to stay inside at night time, go to bed before the sun set.   
The bard had been told not to sing anything about wolves. Yvonne had been adamant, and the bard had perked right up at the mention of a monster. Stupid things, bards were. Bert would be the one to take his belongings when he died though, having been the one serving him. That was a plus. Yvonne was pregnant and there was a werewolf and a war on the horizon. They really needed anything they could get.   
"Geralt should be here on the morrow!" The bard had squawked at Yvonne and Bert had grimaced. He sounded like a whore in one of the big cities. "Should have that all cleared up for you. Coming in from Skellige."   
"Oh, is Geralt your lass?" Yvonne had cooed, wiping down a table. The bard shook his head.   
And oh golly. A bard and a witcher in his inn. Bert couldn’t get his hopes up, for what if the witcher scared people away from the bard?   
"Don’t ye worry." Yvonne had whispered that night in bed, huddled up for warmth next to Bert. "Everyone loves some music."   
"Suppose so." Bert had grunted, one hand on his wife's tum. The witch up the road had said she should be due come winter and what joy that would be, hm? A babe? Because of course the witch didn’t get it, with her blonde hair clean and her fine clothes not smelling of dirt. A babe in winter was a death sentence.   
"I love me some music." Yvonne mumbled, half asleep already. Bert hummed for her, a tune his ma used to sing to him. The bard was playing his lute in the room next door, quiet enough to be acceptable. 

Morning came, and with it came the witcher, dirty and tired from his travels. He roomed with the bard and paid for four days lodgings, for the room and for his horse, whom Yvonne pampered to, never mind the fleas.   
"There's a werewolf about." Bert had said and told him of the four deaths, three from the wolf and one because of the bite. Little Robbie had gotten to say goodbye, at least, before his ma and da slipped something into his drink. From the witch, of course. Went peacefully in his sleep. Bert had made some bread and gave it to them. Most he could, what with a war and a werewolf and winter a coming. And with winter came the babe. A death sentence.   
"Hm?" The witcher had said, white hair grey from gunk. Bert knew it was white, everyone knew it was white. Yvonne sang them songs in the bath sometimes and it made Bert happy.   
"Aye, go talk to Emmet, he's four doors down. His kid got bit, should be able to tell you some."   
"And the child?" The witcher asked. His voice was deep, terrifyingly so. If he wasn’t a witcher, he knew that Mary and Alice, the two teens in the village, would be all over him. Or, knowing them, they'd be all over him because he was a witcher. Bert couldn’t blame him, but he had his Yvonne and he would love her until the end of time.   
"Dead." Bert said, soft, eyeing Emma and her babe who sat at a table a little ways away. The witcher hummed. "You should take a bath before you visit, I can bring up some hot water if you want."   
"Yes. Thank you." The witcher nodded, and stalked up the stairs. Bert grimaced at the blood trail he left behind, from a monster head. He wouldn’t be able to tell you what it was if you held a knife to his throat.   
And so the witcher had a bath and went to Emmet's smelling of oils. Folk came in that evening speaking of him, whispers carrying loudly in the silence. The bard had left with the witcher. "Bye-bye!" He'd called with a smile and a wave and Bert had frowned. So loud, bards were.   
He came back before the witcher, the bard did, and quickly strum up a tune. He was famous, this bard, Yvonne had told him. The witcher was famous too but, well, Bert supposed all witchers were. Yvonne was off mingling, giving out jugs of ale and cooing at the kiddies. It was safe tonight, with a witcher, and so they had been allowed up after dark, hurried to the open door of the inn, where Bert gave them blackberry juice or water.   
The inn was loud with laughter and music, and the candles made it cozy and, yes, it stunk of ale and lager but nobody seemed to mind. Everyone was smiling, even Emma's babe, who was holding onto Mary's finger. There was no war on the horizon, no werewolf, and no death sentence looming in winter. It was nice.   
The witcher came back late, when some of the kiddies had fallen asleep on shoulders, thumbs in mouths. He was dirty and bloody and Bert had grumbled about another bath. The witcher had shot him a glare like he'd heard and, oh god, the bard had noticed the witcher and was singing about him. How dreadfully embarrassing, Bert had thought.   
But the witcher had just set his jaw, lips twitching. No blood, no gore, no raised voices. Yvonne came up with a smile, kissing the witcher on the lips for there was no werewolf anymore. The inn cheered and the bard was singing about the witcher, who tugged on the bard's hair when he cozied up to him, still singing that bloody song.   
And so Bert left Yvonne with the witcher while he set up a bath in the shared room, eyes darting to the bed and to the clothes strewn about and. Oh. Well, Bert supposed, Yvonne will find this ever so sweet.   
The witcher had left Bert with a few more coin and some remedies for when winter came, and now there was only a war over the hill but. No death sentence. Bert wouldn’t have to give up his Yvonne to have a child or his child to have his Yvonne and that was good.   
When the witcher and the bard visited next spring, Bert and Yvonne's babe was gushed over and she pulled at the witcher's locks and gurgled. The bard, who was famous or something, had laughed and bumped the witcher's cheek with his forehead and oh. He'd forgotten to tell Yvonne, who whispered about it in the dark that night, giggling. The bard was playing his lute for his witcher next door, and the sound was politely acceptable, soothing him to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> bert loves his wife very dearly and they name their child keira and bert gets grumpy when he learns that that was the name of The Witch


End file.
